


I'll Be Home for Christamas

by Smutcutter



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutcutter/pseuds/Smutcutter
Summary: December 2005. Viggo and Orlando have their first Christmas against all odds.* WORK OF TOTAL FICTION - NONE OF THIS IS REAL *Just a bit of fun, really. Bit of old LJ stuff brushed off and shined up. According to my LJ, this was my first slash fic!
Relationships: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Kudos: 3





	I'll Be Home for Christamas

I’ll Be Home For Christmas  
by  
SmutCutter

December 2005

The water was scalding. Viggo lifted his face to the spray of the shower and stepped carefully as he turned in the antique bathtub. The shower head was jury-rigged and obviously an afterthought. He had arrived early and a hot shower was first on his list. After all the fussing he would do in the cabin, he might take another one before Orlando arrived.

It was not as if this was their first time, but it was to be their first Christmas. They planned to hide away in this little rural Connecticut cabin for Christmas Eve and part of Christmas Day before heading off to separate airports and separate families for separate holidays. Separate lives. Viggo didn’t want to think about that right now; it made the pit of his stomach constrict. They had been stealing time; days, hours, as much as they could over the past year. Hotel rooms, Viggo’s place, Orli’s place, that one bathroom stall in Terminal C at the Dallas Airport. Viggo laughed at himself; running around like a fool just to have those few precious moments with Orlando.

Orlando stuffed his laptop into his bag as the plane landed behind schedule at Bradley Field. While the craft taxied to the gate, he stared at the forming frost in the oval window. The air was stale in the airplane cabin and Orlando longed for a deep, clean breath, but the terminal was just as stuffy. It was overheated and filled with people rushing to their destinations, bundled in sweaty coats. By the baggage claim, the sliding doors to the outside would open every few minutes and a blast of Arctic air would make everyone shiver.

“That’s not good.” A petite blonde with an overbundled baby on her hip was talking to her tired husband.

“I know. Air that cold and the sky that clear. Gotta be a storm on the way.” He reached in and pulled off another bag, adding to their already huge pile.

Orlando waited for an age to spot his luggage; his eyes locked to the colorful array of leather and brightly wrapped boxes rolling by. All the different origins swirled in his mind as he watched a large black case from Illinois ram into a child’s pink backpack from Texas. He was snapped out of his reverie when his green duffle bag passed for the third time. He grabbed it, hoisting it onto his shoulder, and quickly headed for the doors, head down to handle the blast. 

Viggo turned off the water and stepped from the tub. The cold air hit him like a slap. Despite the heat and a fire in the main room and bedroom, it was cold. He grabbed a towel and hurried to the bedroom, drying himself in front of the fire. He bent and began to scrub at his hair, tossed the towel aside, and ran his fingers through it. Droplets from his longer hair dripped onto his shoulders and he shuddered. When he was finally warm, he pulled on his clothes, hung up the towel, and started ‘the fuss’. 

The little kitchen area was warm and inviting with the aroma of roast duck. The mulled wine was steaming from a huge pot, the scent of cinnamon almost overwhelming. Viggo was striving for an old fashioned Christmas and was very pleased with his results. 

“Right down to the red flannel shirt,” he muttered, wiping a spot of the wine from the sleeve almost dipped into the drink. “Might as well hang mistletoe from my crotch.” He laughed at himself again, his Christmas spirit higher than he could ever remember. A quick glance at the clock had him hurrying to light more candles.

Orlando shoved the burger into his mouth, one hand resting on the steering wheel, as the first flakes began to fall. He had the heat cranked fully in the rental car and he was starving. The airplane food was, as usual, horrible. First-class or not, he thought, it’s always bad. He finished the dry burger and reached for the soda in the drink holder. He barely got the straw to this mouth when his front tires hit a patch of ice and the back tires fishtailed, the top of the cup flew off as he missed the holder and grabbed the wheel. His jeans were covered in wet syrup, soda water, and ice by the time he righted the car. His heart pounded as he held the wheel in a sticky death grip with both hands, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat.

Viggo quickly padded around the small cabin barefoot. Next to the fireplace in the main room was plenty of chopped and dry firewood. He planned for them to eat in front of the happily crackling fire. The coffee table had been set with serving trays at the ready, silverware, and plates. Thick red pillar candles glowed beneath hurricanes on the stone mantle and in a few places around the room. Frank Sinatra crooned about being home for Christmas. The tree stood in front of the bay window, white lights and colored ornaments twinkling in the firelight. The Noble fir came from a few hundred yards behind the cabin, chopped with his own hands (with permission) and he had cleaned out most of the local general store for the decorations. It reminded him of a place just off the beaten path near his ranch. He felt at home the moment he had stepped in, damp from the tree chore, stamping the snow from his boots, and was welcomed warmly with a cup of hot cider. As an afterthought, he purchased some small candles and holders made for putting on a tree with a raised eyebrow from the elderly female shop owner.

“Not many people use those anymore.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling with an old memory. “Nice to see them appreciated.”

Viggo smiled as well and handed over his Visa card.

“All the roads are closed, dear.” The elderly shop owner handed Orlando a towel and offered a cup of hot cider. In the store, several people were huddled around a large pot-bellied stove, wrapped in scarves with toes seeking out the fire. There were two small tables inside the railing around the heat, one was holding an array of baby items and the other was covered with paper and crayons, two young boys intent on their art. Two other men, legs sprawled out, clutched beers, and murmured their conversation from the side of their mouths.

“I appreciate that ma’am, but I have to get up there tonight.” Orli’s voice pleaded softly as he rubbed at his wet clothes with the towel. 

The woman reached across the counter and took his hand in hers, giving him a soft pat.

“I know, dear, but it just is not safe.” Her hands were dry, pretty nails short and pink.

Orli swallowed hard, nodded his thanks, but said nothing and turned back to the windows, drink forgotten on the counter. He watched the snow start to cover his car, the dark metal being devoured by the crystalline storm when he remembered his cell phone. He tried repeatedly, but could not get a stable signal.

The woman walked over and pressed the hot cup into his hand, a gentle touch on his shoulder. He started at her approach and offered a polite smile, a silent thank you. She smiled in return then shook her head, her boots clomping softly on the hardwood floor. She joined the others, leaning over one boy’s drawing and praised his yellow Christmas tree. Orli stood by the window and methodically punched the same number into his phone.

Viggo walked into the bedroom and was happy to find it was finally warming up. The bed was thick with several pillows and blankets, inviting and ready to be lost in. The cream-colored comforter was filled with goose down, the throws carelessly tossed over it were red and green fleece. The mountain of pillows was full and fluffy. There were more candles and the whole place was filled with a warm cozy glow. The place was Connecticut country kitsch to the max. Viggo stood in front of the bedroom mirror and tried to straighten out his hair. He stopped in mid brush and blinked. He looked around the oh-so-perfect setting and shook his head.

“Face it, old man, you are so gay.” He was still laughing when the lights went out.

A baby began to cry.

“Oh, give her to me, Emma.” The old woman spoke. “Dennis? Go get that box of candles from the back and Douglas, best bring in the rest of that firewood.”

The elderly shop owner was full of commands and everyone did her bidding without question, the baby cooing in Grandma’s arms. Orli squinted in the dim light and watched her walk towards him, smiling as the baby reached out to him. He leaned down a little and watched the child grip his fingers. 

“No sense staying cold by the window and brooding, young man. Come by the fire and at least get warm. You’ll get to your family soon enough.” She linked her free arm through his and led him to the stove. He caught a hint of Channel number 5 and baby powder. And, considerable strength in the slender arm.

“Thank you, but, it’s not my family, it’s a friend.” His voice was soft, edged with defeat, and wondered what made him qualify why he had to get going. He slid into a chair and slowly leaned his elbows on his knees, staring into the stove, the fire peeking through the narrow grating. Realization was sinking in. He was stuck. He unbuttoned his wool jacket and slipped his cell back into his jeans. The fire was almost too hot on his loafers, but at least his jeans would be dry. He stared at the cup in his hand as if he just realized he held it. It went down smooth and sweet.

Viggo didn’t register right away what happened. The room was still glowing, the fire roaring, but Frank had stopped singing and the central heat was gone. Still barefoot, he made his way to the kitchen, the one area without light, and grabbed the flashlight from under the sink. The electric stove was still warm but cooling fast. 

Viggo searched his mind for a way to finish cooking dinner in the fireplace and prayed the power would come back up soon. He stopped, it’s not, he thought. He hurried to the bay window in the living room and yanked back the heavy drapes. Sure enough, thick snow had begun to fall. He walked to the front door and opened it, taking a tentative step onto the porch. His toes hit new-fallen snow and the flashlight caught the frozen dance of a thousand flakes. 

Several inches had already fallen and Viggo watched his truck begin to disappear, the drift already covering halfway up his tires. The silent ballet of snow had him entranced. He clicked off the flashlight and stepped to the bench on the porch, curling himself onto it Indian style and watched. The world went quiet.

“I need my camera,” he whispered, the words frosting into the air.

“Excuse me.” Orlando stood suddenly and went back to the window. He knew the lady was only trying to help but he just HAD to get through! He punched the number viciously into his cell again and his breath stopped when it got a signal and it started to ring.

Viggo was stunned. He didn’t notice the cold or his breath. His eyes would light on one flake and follow its path until it disappeared with its thousands of brothers seamlessly. “Not a creature was stirring...” he recited the old children’s poem in time to a strange beeping sound. He blinked. Santa has a cell phone? Cell phone!

He yelped when his feet hit the porch and hopped back inside, shivering as he closed the door. He turned the flashlight back on and the beam bounced around until it landed on his leather coat hung on the front rack, muffled chirping coming from the inside pocket. He flipped it open and saw Orli’s number.

“Orlando?”

The connection was riddled with static and dropouts. Viggo pressed the phone to his ear tighter, squinted with concentration, strained to hear.

”Hello....*static*... can.... *more static*.... don’t know how....*huge blast of static*....

”Orli! I can’t hear you!” Viggo’s teeth chattered as he walked around the cooling cabin, trying to find the right spot for the best signal. He stepped up to the fire, one chilled hand out to the flames.

“Hello....*static*.....impossible... *static*.....going... *CLICK*”

Viggo stared at the dead phone as if it would bite him. He tried in vain to dial Orlando back but could not even raise a signal to call information. ‘Impossible’ and ‘going’. He swallowed hard. Orlando wasn’t coming. The thought hurt more than his nearly frostbitten toes. He carelessly tossed the phone onto the table. It made a satisfying clatter against the empty plates.

“Hello?” Orlando was yelling. “I’m told it’s impossible to get through! But I’m going to try!” The signal was gone.

It took all his willpower not to hurl it through the front window or crush it into a million pieces. He sighed heavily, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and tried to think.

The shop was glowing with candles and the smell of hot chocolate and spiced cookies filled the air. The family around the stove was talking softly, the baby being rocked by its mother, the grandmother knitting. Two men were now playing checkers, the boys clutching PSP’s on a blanket closer to the warmth. Emma had pulled out an mp3 player, hooked up to external speakers and Frank Sinatra sang softly. The Christmas tree by the back windows was alight with small candles and Orli thought of home. He had seen paintings, but never knew this sort of scene really existed. 

If he had stayed on his original plan, he would be in the air, stretched out in first class, winging his way home. Instead, he was still cold, stuck in the middle of nowhere Connecticut, no phone, no car, not even a snowboard. His jaw set, he rummaged in his bag for every single piece of warm clothing he had. He came up empty. He was returning from Los Angeles (the best it got there was 70 degrees) and his winter clothes were home. He was supposed to be in a nice warm rental, not in jeans and a t-shirt, a worn wool coat and no hat. And my damned two hundred dollar loafers, he cursed to himself. Determined, he reached for the front door and started to head out. He turned to look one more time at the perfect tableau.

“Thank you, very much, for your help.” He nodded to the woman, who stopped mid-stitch.

“Young man, no. It’s too nasty out there.” She put her work aside and hurried towards him.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been in colder. Honest. Thank you, again.” He smiled like an angel and stepped into the freezing storm.

She wanted to grab him but he was gone, the bell of the shop door tinkling happily as she watched him trudge through the snow that came up to his knees.

Emma, baby suckling a bottle in her arms, hustled to her side. “Think that was really HIM?” Her eyes wide as she tried to get one more glimpse. 

The mother smirked. “Oh hush, what the hell would Orlando Bloom be doing in Connecticut on Christmas Eve?” She bit her lip and thought of younger days. And, wondered what little lady he was hurrying off to. “But he was a dish, wasn’t he?” 

Emma practically squealed. 

“Dennis?” The woman called out over her shoulder. “You’re working tonight, aren’t you?” Her eyes strained to catch one last glimpse of the young man as he faded into the darkness.

Viggo re-stoked the fire and pulled the battery-operated radio from the hall closet. He poured some of the mulled wine, grabbed a loaf of the french bread, and some of the sharp cheddar cheese. He’d pulled on a fleece jacket over his flannel shirt and t-shirt and settled in front of the fireplace to brood. He listened to the newscaster drone on about the storm coming up faster than expected, all roads blocked, airports closed up and down the Eastern seaboard. A few times, for the fun of it, he grabbed the landline phone just to hear it click. The bread felt thick in his mouth and he finally tossed the heel into the flames, contemplating whether or not to grab his camera or sketchpad.

Orlando didn’t stop. Cold wasn’t the word for it. Freezing. Arctic. Polar, was closer. Extreme weather was nothing normally, when snowboarding or skiing, but this time he was very ill-prepared. He was wet and sweating under his trendy Los Angeles clothes but every step got him closer to Viggo, he kept telling himself. His duffle bag was digging into his shoulder and he had forgotten he had fingers and toes at least a mile back. He was waiting for his breath to come out as icicles and he was constantly wiping at his runny nose.

Viggo checked on the duck and found it was not cooked thoroughly. The rest of the trimmings were still in the fridge, prepared and waiting for the now-defunct electric oven. He pulled the cover off the mulled wine and poured the fourth glass. Even it was getting cold. He padded back to his spot on the floor by the fire and clicked off the radio, unable to listen anymore. He stoked the fire, grabbed the pillows off the couch, and made a makeshift bed. Some Christmas, he thought and allowed himself a good old fashion sulk.

Orli thought, I’m going to die, I just know it. I am going to die and they won’t find my body until the bloody spring! They will find a soggy pair of expensive shoes and my bones, he grumbled. The road he was following was now gone. The night was pitch and he hoped he was still on the right path. The burger he choked down so long ago still lay in his stomach like lead mixing with the cider. His feet dragged; his steps slower and slower. He stopped and watched the tracks he had made behind him disappear. Suddenly, he heard a strange rumble echoing through the trees, his heart began to race.

Viggo awoke, his head was pounding slightly with the spiced wine and not enough food. The fire had burned down, the glowing embers cast small angry shadows and a chill filled the room. It was still dark and he pulled the blanket around himself and relit the fire until it roared again, putting up fresh candles. At least it gave him something to do. A sound caught his ears from very far off. It was an engine of some kind, he was sure of it. He stood and strained to listen. Must be just the police or something coming to make sure everything was okay, he thought. He sighed heavily and padded to the front door to meet the local law. 

The snowmobile skidded to a stop next to his truck, the headlights cutting through the still falling snow like a beacon. Viggo blinked and focused on the illuminated Domino’s Pizza sign clipped to the back of the vibrating vehicle. He watched a second rider climb off, grab two large pizza boxes and thrust something into the driver’s hand, with a pat on his shoulder. He hiked a large duffle bag, and a laptop bag, onto his shoulder and turned toward the cabin.

Viggo lifted the flashlight at the approaching hulk, face obscured with a Red Sox Baseball hat and a black ski mask, price tags dancing in the wind. He stopped in front of Viggo and lifted his head.

“Spheffal Dlivry.” The muffled voice made Viggo think of Kenny from South Park.

”What?” he said.

The figure shoved the pizza into Viggo’s hands and tore off his hat and knitted mask, Orlando’s eyes were bright, cheeks and nose ruddy.

“Special Delivery.” He smiled, shivering visibly.

Viggo dropped the pizza and threw himself at Orli, gathering him close, inhaling the scent of the tumbled dark curls, some of the ends crackling with ice. Orlando held on for dear life as the snowmobile idled. Viggo swallowed, stifling the huge lump that had formed in his throat. 

Dennis coughed politely behind them. They broke apart quickly, Viggo coughing and Orli clearing his throat and clapping his gloves together, then he added a large sniff. 

Dennis smirked. “Ma said you might need this.” He handed over two shopping bags of canned goods and two pots to use in the fireplace. “She says there should be more candles and supplies in the shed out back.” He held out a set of keys. “Help yourself.”

He began to walk away from the stunned men, then turned back suddenly. “Oh, she also said that if you made it,” he nodded to Orlando, “your stay is on the house, no rent for the cabin. Merry Christmas!” He climbed onto the snowmobile and was gone.

Viggo stifled a laugh as he drove away. Orlando looked longingly at the cornucopia of food.

“How did you - “ Viggo started.  
“You’ve have no idea -” Orli was talking with chattering teeth.  
“The power just -”  
“I know and the phone - “  
“I know -”  
“You have no shoes on!”  
“And you have no decent coat!” 

They hustled into the cabin after grabbing the sturdy pizza boxes and quickly closed the door.

“I thought you turned back. I thought you changed your mind and weren’t coming.” Viggo grabbed Orli and mumbled into his shoulder. Orlando let his bags drop to the floor. 

“I’ve been trying to get here all night! Hell, I walked halfway!” Viggo pulled away and watched Orli shiver, looking down at his squishing shoes.

“Walked?” he said, unbelieving.

“W-w-walked.” Orli’s teeth chattered.

Viggo hugged him again. “And those were your favorite pair.”

Viggo put the supplies by the fire and watched Orli stretch out his shaking hands to the fire.

“Bloody hell.” His teeth were still clattering. “I know from cold, b-b-but this is ridiculous.” Viggo draped him with a blanket and poured him a shot of brandy.

”Drink this, you’ll get warm.”

Orli downed the drink in one shot. Viggo patted his wet curls with a towel.

“You need a hot bath, or shower. Let me check something.” Viggo trotted to the bathroom and turned on the hot tap in the sink. After a few rattles, steam filled the bathroom. He reached over and turned on the shower.

“Orli!” He called out. “Come here!” There was no answer. He stepped back into the living room and Orlando was hugging himself shuddering.

“I can’t get warm.” He looked up with pleading eyes. “C-c-can’t get warm.”

“You’ve still got on your wet clothes. Come on.” He pulled Orli to his feet and stripped him of wet jeans and shirt. “Get those shoes off!” He watched the boy’s flesh rise with goosebumps and led him to the bathroom. The room was like a sauna and Viggo pulled open the shower curtain, tested the water and stripped. He stepped in quickly and held a hand out to Orli.

”Come on, get in.” Orli extended a shaking hand and Viggo grabbed it. He kept his own back to the water to take the brunt of it and Orli cried out as the warm water hit his over sensitive skin.

“Oh god! It almost hurts!” He yelled.

Viggo gathered him into his arms.

“It’s all right, I’ve got you. You’ll be warm in no time.” He placed gentle kisses along Orli’s neck and chin and felt the boy’s body begin to relax. He turned him around and massaged his neck and shoulders, then backed up a little so the water could sluice down Orli's back.

“I can’t believe you walked.” Viggo muttered, placing a kiss on Orli’s shoulder.

“And it seems I brought dinner.” Orli laughed a little. Viggo smiled, turned him around once more, and claimed his lips in a kiss.

“Better?” He whispered.

“Better.” Orli nodded. “But I don’t want to go back out there.”

“You stay here. I’ll take care of everything.” With one more kiss, he stepped from the shower and dried quickly. Pulling on a thick warm bathrobe, he got to work. 

The bedroom was not as warm as he hoped so he stripped off the comforters and pillows from the bed and dragged them quickly into the main room, which was warm as toast, adding to his makeshift nest.

The water was starting to chill as Orli turned it off. He stepped from the shower and inhaled the steam gratefully. With the bath sheet over his shoulders, he hurried back to the living room. He watched Viggo light the last candle on the Christmas tree. 

“It’s beautiful. Just beautiful.” Orli breathed and crawled between the covers before the fire.

”You should have seen what I had planned, though.” Viggo slid in beside Orli, pulling him close.

“This is perfect for me.” He breathed, cheek pressed to Viggo’s chest, arms holding him tight, sliding under the man’s robe.

“Feel better?” Viggo kissed the top of his wet curls. Orli nodded. 

Viggo gently stroked Orli’s face with the back of his fingers, one eye on the fire. Both men were silent for a long moment. Viggo slid down to lay beside Orlando and looked into his eyes. There were no words, no snow, no outside world. He leaned forward and kissed Orli gently. Orli slid his arms around Viggo’s neck and pulled him close, Viggo’s tongue dipping between Orli’s lips slowly, taking his time, exploring. Burger and cider, he smiled to himself. 

Orli slid the robe off Viggo’s shoulders and let it fall to the side. Their kisses became more urgent, Viggo was half laying on top of Orli and he gasped as their hard cocks met. Viggo reached down and languidly stroked them together, Olri moaning within their pressed lips. He broke the contact first, panting. 

“I know how to keep us warm.” Viggo said with a smile. Orlando laughed.

“You know how cheesy that sounds.” He said but pressed his body to Viggo’s tighter.

“Look around. I was all in for the ultimate in cheese tonight. I worked hard at this.” He said, stopping to kiss the boy again. Orlando laughed again.

“Stop saying things like that!” He smiled and pushed Viggo on to his back. He covered the man and locked himself into a kiss that meant no more words were to be spoken.

Viggo dove in and licked and bit Orli’s neck, listening to the gasps and groans with a smile. He moved the boy onto his back, the tango between them complete, and made his way lower and lower, stopping briefly to lick a wet circle around a sun tattoo near his navel, then slid Orli’s cock deep into his mouth without hesitation. Orli gripped a handful of Viggo’s hair and cried out, sitting up on one elbow to watch his cock slide in and out of Viggo’s mouth. 

Viggo licked a long line up Orli’s shaft, giving the head one hard suck, then wet his finger, traced a path to Orli’s hole, and teased it. Orli moaned louder, lower lip caught between his teeth, and spread his legs further apart. Pressing two fingers inside, Viggo looked up to watch Orli’s face as he finger fucked him slowly. Orli’s hips tried to make Viggo go faster, the slow pace maddening.

“Fuck me.” Orli breathed, flesh pink, and overheated. “Dear God, please fuck me.” 

“The lube is in the bedroom.” Viggo whispered, hand still working. He sat up and placed feather-light kisses on the boy’s stomach along with long delicate licks that made Orli shiver.

“I don’t care, fuck me, please!” He quivered with need and slid down to pull Viggo between his legs.

Viggo gave Olri one more long lick then positioned himself. He grabbed Orli’s hips and guided his cock deep inside. Orli groaned loudly, followed by a sharp hiss as he got used to the intrusion. Soon, he was rocking back and forth with Viggo’s long drawn out thrusts. This pace always made them the most crazy. Taking their time to feel every inch of each motion. They didn’t often have the luxury of time but when they did, Viggo took advantage of it. Orli was shaking his head as if to clear the stars from his eyes, one hand reaching down to stroke his painfully hard cock. 

“Oh god ... yes yes.. fuck!” Orli’s voice rose as his body began to shudder, his ass tightened as he came quickly. Viggo wrapped his arms around Orli, kissing him as if his breath was a lifeline and pumped harder and faster and soon he was crying out just as loud, his body convulsing, forehead pressed to Orli’s, his harsh breath cool on the heated flesh of the boy’s face. It had been too quick, but soul-satisfying.

When Viggo pulled out, it was the same feeling he always got, the separation hurt emotionally. Orlando wanted nothing more than to grab onto Viggo and shove him back in and never let him go. The end was always the beginning of the goodbye. Viggo held him for a long, long time tonight, Orli nestled in the crook of his arm, idly running his fingers over Vig’s chest while the fire hissed and crackled.

They lay in silence for what felt like hours, languidly kissing and touching each other. They would have sex again but the connection after being apart was always intense and left both of them with a sense of loss. 

Eventually, they each relayed their story through mouthfuls of the feast and Viggo brought out the brandy again. The pizza was cold but filling. The brandy was plentiful and they both swayed slightly.

“You are going to have a headache.” Viggo tossed a crust into the flames.

“So are you.” Orli did the same. Viggo moved forward and ran a hand through Orli’s hair.

“It’s still wet.” Viggo whispered.

“I was sweating.” Orlando smirked. “Wonder how that happened?”

“Sit up and turn your back to the fire.” Viggo blinked, a thought occurred to him. “I almost forgot!” He said suddenly and went to the tree. The candles were halfway burned down and he pulled out one present from it’s branches. He hurried back to the pile of bedclothes and held out the box.

“Merry Christmas.” He said. Orlando’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. He stopped cold when, after pulling off the wrapping, he saw it was a ring box, black velvet.

“Viggo.” He breathed and looked up, eyes wide.

“Go on. Open it.” Viggo sat back and hugged one knee, resting his chin on it.

The little box creaked open. Orli’s mouth fell open as he lifted the thick platinum ring from its resting place and read the deep inscription. “In aeternum.”

“Latin. It means ‘forever’.” Viggo whispered and took the ring, placing it on Orlando’s left-hand ring finger. “You can choose what finger to wear it on, or not to wear it at all. I just wanted it on that finger for tonight.” 

For once, Orli was speechless. He slowly slipped into Viggo’s arms and into another kiss. 

“Your turn.” Orlando smirked and handed over a mangled box pulled from his soggy duffle bag. Viggo brightened and tore at the bright paper and opened the long red box. Inside was a large link silver bracelet. 

“Wow.” He breathed and held it up the light. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I know you are not a big jewelry guy, but...” He said as he clasped it onto Viggo’s wrist. “Besides... “ He turned over the clasp and on the back of the first link was an engraved ‘C’. Viggo’s brows drew together.

“C?” He blinked and Orli bit his lip.

“Terminal C, Men’s Room, Dallas Airport.” He chuckled as Viggo leaned over and kissed him deeply, tasting the brandy.

“I think we bent the stall permanently.” He laughed and kissed Orli again.

“Merry Christmas.” Viggo whispered.

“Happy Christmas, you mean.”

“As long as you are here, I’ll call it anything you want.”

\- end –


End file.
